Across Pinewood, down Saluda, over on Kiawah, down Edisto, across Tugaloo, down Saluda again, across Catawba, around a new Charleston like neighborhood, back on Pickens and down S. Gregg to Pinewood again on this first day of spring, Boofa and I stolled in the twilight on a cloud of aromas of flowering trees: plum, cherry, dogwood. Azaleas of all colors.
"Whan that April with his showres soote
The droughte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veine in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flowr;
When Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye
That sleepen al the night with open ye--
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages..."
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